


Nothing is True

by sp00kworm, Wereallalittlemadhere



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed Rogue, Assassin's Creed Unity
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate universe- alternate timeline, Baby Arno, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Arno, F/M, Father Shay, Father-Son Relationship, Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-29
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 00:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7337635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kworm/pseuds/sp00kworm, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wereallalittlemadhere/pseuds/Wereallalittlemadhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the death of his father, Arno is taken under the wing of Shay. Unbeknownst to Arno, Shay is true murderer of his father and in a time of volatile revolution where does Arno's loyalties lie? With the one who raised him, or his true true calling? The Order, or The Brotherhood?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Then perhaps we shall start a revolution of our own." Shay tipped his head before standing, being sure to pocket the device he had spent so many years looking for. The Precurser Box was finally back in Templar hands, and he had finished the business he set out to complete all those years ago. Charles grunted from behind him, standing up before grabbing a guard's arm and toppling to the floor, blood staining the white cravat and shirt he had on. Shay slipped through the crowd gathering around the assassin's body, making it to a pillar as the guards burst into the room. A woman's scream signalled the body had been found. The crowds of rushing spectators blocked the path out of the room, and Shay leant against the pillar, shadowed by shade. He would just have to wait for them to disperse before making his escape and leaving the palace, and France, behind. The sound of a small boy's voice halted him in his tracks.

"Papa?" Shay peered around the pillar to see a boy in a green tailcoat approach the still body of Charles Dorian, golden pocket watch clutched in his small fist. The small boy stared at the still body of his father in a state of shock, unmoving, unblinking and with little expression. He stared blankly, unresponsive to the guard trying to move him away from the bloodied corpse. Shay felt a pang of something in his chest. Regret, guilt and a small amount of sadness in the face of what he had done, orphaning a young boy. He saw De La Serre move close to the boy through the crowd, calling him out by his name. The churning guilt bit at him, and Shay sighed to himself, cursing as he rounded the pillar and closed in on the Grandmaster of Paris.

"Arno- What are you still doing here?" The sentence was whispered harshly to Shay as he grasped De La Serre's shoulder, tugging him back from the boy. Shay pressed his hand against the Grandmaster's chest, pushing him backwards.  
"Well nothing ever quite goes to plan, now does it?" Shay's mouth was close to the Grandmaster's ear as he said this. François scowled, growling at the Irishman.  
"What if someone was to have seen you? You put this entire movement in jeopardy Shay." A roll of Shay's eyes signalled he did not care, and a small increase in pressure from the hand pressed into the Grandmaster's chest meant the hidden blade sheathed at his wrist could come into play.  
"Let me take the boy." De La Serre snorted moving backwards out of reach of the deadly weapon.  
"For what purpose other than complicating things?" He huffed and reached down to take his daughter's hand, "He would be far safer away from prying eyes. The prying eyes of the assassins, which are undoubtedly about to sweep down on this place for that..." He flicked his head towards the box under Shay's jacket, "Do as you see fit, Grandmaster of the American rite." François turned away with a flip of his hand, tugging his daughter behind him.

Shay scowled after him before moving over to Arno, the young boy still gripping the watch in his hand in a death grip, staring at the dead body of his father.   
“Arno?” Shay called to him, pushing through the crowd until he reached the shocked boy. He didn't respond to his name, and Shay frowned a little, doing his best to hide the small amount of blood on his wrist as he gripped the boys shoulder. “Come along, Arno. Come on.” He gently steered Arno through the crowd, avoiding prying eyes, keeping his head down. The boy moved in a trance and held the pocket watch close to his heart until they reached the next room. It was then that Arno finally made a noise. A small sniffle sounded from by his leg, and Shay raised his scarred eyebrow as the young boy finally collapsed from his shocked state. A wail cut through the air, shocking Shay slightly before Arno was clutching the fabric of Shay's trousers in his small fists, his face buried in them as he sobbed.

Shay felt his heart clench a little and he tentatively reached down, petting Arno's hair gently with his calloused hands, whispering softly, before kneeling down next to him and pulling out a handkerchief. He stopped just away from the boy's face, contemplating for a moment, before gently running the square of silk over Arno's cheeks and patting his eyes dry. Arno hiccuped constantly, tears welling and falling down his cheeks again, Shay softly smiled before wiping them away again.  
“It'll be alright Arno. Come on shh.” He carefully moved him over to a chair in the hallway and peered around quickly before handing him the handkerchief to keep using. “Do you have any family?” Large doe eyes peered up at him, cheeks red with stray hairs stuck to them. He sniffled, still sobbing, just managing to shake his head as an indication of 'no'. Shay nodded stiffly before kneeling down again and grasping Arno's hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft backs in a comforting gesture. Through the sobs he saw a glimmer of relief and Shay smiled before flicking a few tears away with a thumb.  
“My name is Shay Patrick Cormac. What your name little one?” Arno hiccuped, sniffling as Shay rubbed tears from his face.  
“Arno. Arno Victor Dorian.”   
Shay smiled at him, standing up, “Come on. You can stay with me for the time being.” Arno was not inclined to resist Shay as he carefully picked the young boy up, resting him on his hip.

Shay scowled as he heard the sound of scuffles breaking out around the palace with guards and assassins and, undoubtedly, templars. Arno sniffed against his shoulder, gripping Shay's leather coat tightly as he struggled with his own feelings quietly. Shay took long strides down the corridor, looking left and right before slipping around towards the exit. He heard the sounds of a guard behind him and sped up, weaving left and right through crowds of people before finally making it out into the sunlight. Guards were positively crawling the grounds now and Shay made an alteration, heading towards the shade as he strode towards the carriages outside the gates of the Palace of Versailles. He saw De La Serre scoop his daughter up into a carriage before promptly riding away. Shay rolled his eyes, heading towards the circle. A smile and a bag of francs bought his transport.

Arno said nothing as he allowed himself to be placed into the carriage, clutching the broken pocket watch for dear life, strangling the handkerchief in his other hand. Shay sat himself down, smacking the roof with a fist, shouting the small estate name to the driver. It was then he noticed the blood pooling in Arno's hand. Immediately he grabbed the boy's hand in a vice like grip, and received a shout and a prompt thump to his shoulder.  
“Don't touch it! Get off of me!” Arno howled, squirming to remove his hand from Shay's grasp and tug the pocket watch back close to his chest. Shay grunted with the unexpected, albeit weak hit, and sighed prying the watch from Arno's hand before placing it in his own pocket, and pinning Arno's fingers open. Arno wailed and grabbed at the air in vain, trying to recover the watch before breaking into sobs again. “Please! No! Give it me back please!” Tears flooded his cheeks once more. Shay cringed a little but drew him into his lap from across the seats.

With Arno in his lap he forced the boy to look at his bleeding hand, shards of glass from the broken watch stuck in his palm.  
“Do your really think hurting yourself like this is going to help bring your dad back lad? Because it isn't. It might help for a day, but tomorrow the pain is twice as bad. You need to calm down. Yes, its sad, you're father is gone, but he's not gone truly.” Shay pressed a finger to Arno's chest, instantly reminded of the friends he had seen die, and had killed himself, “He will be with you in there always.” He took a shuddering breath, “So don't hurt yourself for him, because that's not what he would want. Now let me see what you've done.”   
Arno reluctantly held out his hand, still crying. The palm was littered with gashes, all bleeding with tiny shards of glass stuck in them. Shay clicked his tongue holding the hand out with a mock sigh.  
“I think we might have to chop it off lad.” Arno bit his lip and shook his head rapidly. Shay smiled at him, “Oh yes, I don't think we can sort this out.” Arno huffed, tears and puffy eyes making him look not even the tiniest bit threatening.  
“You're lying! I'll be fine!” Shay held his hands up in surrender as the young boy huffed, momentarily stopping crying.

The rest of the journey consisted of Shay stopping Arno from messing with his palm and uncomfortable silences. He had no clue how to deal with children. He had never had any of his own, and at his age, it was a none existent idea, but he tried his best to keep Arno's thoughts from his father until the carriage pulled up at the small estate he had purchased in Paris. It was nothing in comparison to the noble ones, but seemed fine all the same- Shay didn't live in luxury. Arno however, curled his nose slightly at the unkempt grounds, but didn't comment, still sniffling now and then and messing with the glass in his hand. Shay smacked his hands lightly and opened the door, demanding the maid at the entrance to bring him a bowl, tweezers, cloth and bandages. She hurried off to fulfil his order and he carried Arno to the drawing room, placing him on one of the plush lounge chairs as the maid stumbled in with the things he requested.

Arno watched with a wary expression as Shay removed his leather coat and gauntlet, unstrapping the sword and dagger, pouches and guns from his waist. Shay turned back to him and smiled softly, pushing a stool close to where Arno was before retrieving the items from the table where they had been placed and sitting down in front of the young boy. He held out his hand for Arno's and was carefully given it. Shay tutted looking at the wounds once more, and carefully began to pluck shard of glass from the cuts. Arno began to cry again, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as the glass was tugged free of the sensitive wounds. Shay hushed him, consoling as he tugged the final pieces free, blood dripping down the back of Arno's hand now. Shay rung out the cloth from the bowl of water before running it over the entirety of Arno's hand, clearing off dried and fresh blood. He held the hand and pulled the bowl close, placing it in his lap before dunking Arno's hand in. The boy hissed and squirmed, but Shay held the hand tightly, rubbing the wounded palm gently to remove anything left. As soon as he let go, Arno whipped his hand back sniffling as Shay handed him a towel and retrieved the bandages to wrap the wounds with.

Arno stared in fascination as Shay quickly wrapped his palm in bandage, expertly tucking the loose pieces in to produce a wrapped and protected hand. Arno didn't need to know that Shay was more than used to patching himself and other people up, but that was in his job description, and it was something he rather the boy didn't know about. Arno held his hand close before quietly speaking.  
“Thank you...Can I have my father's watch, please?” The tone was desperate, and Shay nodded retrieving the broken watch from his pocket. He tutted at the shards of glass stuck to it and carefully brushed as many as he could off of the item before handing it back to the orphaned boy. Arno clutched the watch like a lifeline, a small sad smile tugging his lips upwards as the tears began to roll again. Shay frowned before leaning forwards and engulfing the poor boy in a hug, berating himself to the ends of the earth and back for letting this get in the way of his purpose, but at the same time, he found the role oddly reassuring to himself. Arno was stiff for a few seconds before finally giving in and wailing into Shay's shoulder, clutching his shirt tightly as he called for his father and mother. Shay could do nothing but hold him, and did so until he fell asleep.

The Irishman sighed as he placed Arno down on a bed, covering him up after removing his shoes. What he didn't expect, was to be grabbed by the boy as he turned to leave. Arno looked at him through large dark eyes.  
“Can you...” He looked down in embarrassment, “Can you stay with me until I fall asleep? I can't sleep without-without.” He hiccuped and Shay shushed him nodding, sitting down in the chair by the large canopy bed. Arno released Shay's sleeve before snuggling into the pillows, his eyes drooping as he was quietly lulled back off to sleep, facing the templar. Shay only watched, waiting until the boy was asleep to deal with the visitor he was sure to have at the door by now. The Grandmaster of Paris was a persistent fellow.

Shay was greeted by the Grandmaster in his study, having sent a maid to send him up to him. François accepted a glass of wine, seating himself across from Shay with a scowl.  
“Just what do you see in keeping that boy around Shay? He's only going to cause you trouble, as much as you have already caused for me at least.” The Frenchman sipped the wine with a casual glance towards his American counterpart. Shay sat in the high backed chair behind his small desk, sipping whiskey from a small glass with a single eyebrow raised.  
“What do you mean, why am I keeping him around? I thought the answer to that would be fairly obvious De La Serre.” Shay swallowed a mouthful of drink as the other templar shifted uncomfortably in his hard seat, sneering as he placed his own drink aside.

“Guilt. You always were a soft one Shay, and I see slaughtering your comrades in the Brotherhood made you no less soft hearted.” He raised a finger and pointed at him, “Oh yes, you'll argue it would be to use him against the Assassins. But, I saw your face Shay, when you heard the poor boy ask for his father. You were a broken man then, and,” De La Serre leant close to him over the desk, “you always have been. Ever since Munro got himself killed all those years ago, you've stalked around, dark eyed and stony faced, but that heart, the one that stopped the Haytham from killing Achielles, that has, and always will be, your downfall.” The Parisian Grandmaster went to lean back, only to have Shay grapple him around the throat by the cravat tied so expertly under the collar of his shirt. It took the Irish captain a second to press a dagger to François' neck, digging into the skin over his jugular, a bead of blood oozing from a small cut.  
“Understand this De La Serre. I do what I want for my own reasons, and none of it is any of your business. So why I chose to take the boy is also, none of your concern. Do you understand me?” De La Serre growled, giving a stiff, unwilling nod before Shay released his grip on the cravat around his neck. 

The Grandmaster of Paris was quick to move away out of Shay's grip, watching as Shay slid the dagger into the sheath on his thigh warily. With a small cough, he stood up, coolly making his way to the door. Shay remained sat in his chair and smiled sarcastically raising the whiskey to his lips once more. As François reached the door he turned around, his cane tapping the ground loudly as he halted.  
“One day, Shay, you're going to run out of luck.” He peered at the relaxed, dark haired templar over his shoulder. Shay held up his glass.  
“I make my own luck.” He announced proudly, drinking the last of the spirit, listening gleefully as De La Serre stormed out, slamming the door behind him. 

After the inevitable thorn in his side had departed, Shay hummed, watching the small fire in the hearth grow low and dim, before realising the logs were merely glowing with heat. He set about remaking the fire, stoking it and adding another log to get it going again. Shay whipped around as the door creaked, drawing his dagger out of reflex, only to see Arno poke his head in around the door. Shay was quick to sheath the dagger and stood up to make himself known. Arno jumped a little at the hard expression he was faced with. He peered at the ground, ringing his hands together in front of himself as Shay moved over to him, kneeling down so he was eye level.  
“And just what are you doing out of bed this late at night mister?” Arno sniffled and ducked his head lower. It didn't take Shay long to figure out the poor boy was crying, and he was quick to draw him closer, picking him up and walking closer to the fire, wrapping Arno in a hug as he sat down, the niggling feeling of guilt pricking at his conscious. 

Arno sobbed for a little while, once again staining Shay's shirt and waistcoat with salty tears and snot. The boy managed to pull away long enough to wipe his face on the sleeve of his shirt and whimpered, sitting back in Shay's lap.  
“I dreamt th-that-that my dad,” He hiccuped repeating a few words, “was a ghost and-and he came into my room, but he wasn't happy to-to-to see me a-and he shouted at me- and-” Shay shushed him grabbing the spare handkerchief he kept from the draw and drawing it over Arno's face, wiping away the tears softly.   
“Don't worry lad. It was just a dream. You're safe....You're safe.” He drew Arno in closer, and Arno sniffled, muttering into the wet shirt clinging to Shay's chest.  
“Can...Can I stay with you Mister Shay? Please?” Arno whispered, fisting the damp cotton of Shay's shirt in his hands. Shay sighed, flicking a wet strand of hair from Arno's round face, tucking the lock behind his ear.  
“Of course you can lad.” He smiled down at he young boy who gave him a small, heartbroken smile in return.

Shay sighed as Arno's breathing slowed against him, and tried to move to put the boy back in his room, only to have Arno tighten his fists in his clothing, knotting his hands further into the material. There was no removing Arno's hands without waking him, so Shay resigned to collecting his large coat and draping it over them both in the padded chair, making himself comfortable for the night, pressing his head into the back. He'd slept in far worse places, and maybe it would be worth it if Arno could just stay asleep for more than an hour. Shay kicked his boots off with his toes and tugged the foot stool into position before finally closing his eyes, wrapping his arms around the sensitive boy in his arms, snuggled into his chest like a wounded puppy. Maybe, just maybe, he had made the right decision this time.

Arno was awoken by a ruffling sensation of his hair. Opening his eyes, he could see that the study was bathed in the warm glow of early sunlight and glancing upwards was the serene face of his new guardian. Arno observed the man for a minute. Like his father, Shay had strong features befitting of a man although the man in front of him was far more youthful than Charles Dorian. The scar on the man's forehead intrigued the small boy in his arms. Arno had never seen scars like that before. Did he get it falling out of a tree? Was he in a fight or a war? He would ask the man later. Arno would have gone back to sleep, the powerful chest rising up and down with each breath soothed him, yet there was a pain in his stomach which caused it to growl in protest. When had he last eaten? It seemed like a lifetime. Cautiously Arno slipped from the arms of his guardian, pausing for a moment as the man readjusted himself to the boy's loss, then recovered Shay with the heavy leather coat before making his way out of the study and into the corridor.

The early morning chill bit at his skin through the thin linen of the nightgown, but his main priority was to find the kitchen and get the chef to fix him some breakfast. It was his belief that the kitchen would not be so hard to find, after all the estate was considerably smaller than his own home in Versailles. He followed the twisting corridors, accidentally ending up in the servant's quarters. However he was able to find the kitchen using their own set of stairs. By the look of things, no one was awake yet. Who would make him breakfast? Pouting, he entered the kitchen and was in awe. It was so small and rustic, nothing like the grand one, made up of three rooms, at his own family estate. Not to mention the fact that in his own home, all the servants would be awake by now to dote on him. His thoughts wandered back to his father, and he shed a single tear. The events of yesterday still fresh in his mind. He clenched his hand, only to realise the broken pocket watch was no longer there, and the fresh wounds stung in protest at the pressure. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realised that he had left it in his room last night. He would go and retrieve it once he had sated his hunger. 

Normally, he would have Salmon and some sort of sweet pastry for breakfast, but he did not know how to prepare such extravagant food, so he would have to settle for meagre old jam on toast instead. His eyes scanned the room, and found a wooden door on the other side, which upon closer inspection, he found was the pantry. Past the shelves of eggs and jam, fruit and vegetables, the loafs of bread were located on the top shelf. There was a mischievous glint in Arno's eyes as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, wincing at the pain in his injured hand. Finally, all those years of climbing trees was going to pay off.

Half an hour later, Arno had made himself an unconventional breakfast. After climbing the shelves, knocking off glass jars and fresh eggs, he retrieved the smallest loaf his tiny hands could grab. Once back on ground level he selected a jar of strawberry jam, as it was the only jar that was not smashed into tiny shards. He lit a fire to try and cook the misshapen slices of bread, but only ended up incinerating them. In the end, he decided to take the jar of jam and the remaining slices of toast and eat them that way. Dipping a slice in the jar, he created a mountain of jam before chewing the sweet substance. His mouth was a mess with crumbs and dyed a deep red. Almost immediately, the sweet taste gave the small boy a high. He was practically jumping as he left the kitchen, leaving the mess as a surprise for the servants when the woke for the day ahead.

Arno had found his way back to the corridor where his room was located. The bread was gone, but a trail of crumbs were left in his wake, so he had taken to dipping his fingers in the jar to finish the jam off. He was skipping to his room to collect the pocket watch until he came across a portrait. It was of Shay, although he was slightly younger, and an elderly gentleman with tanned skin and a tricorn hat. They were smiling, arms around each other's shoulders and chalices in the other. They were stood in front of a ship, The Morrigan, and on the bottom of the golden frame it read 'Shay Cormac and Haytham Kenway - 1758'. Arno stroked his chin with sticky fingers. In his opinion the picture was missing something. 

Pushing the vase of red roses aside to the floor he climbed up onto the table before the portrait, the sound of the vase shattering doing little to affect him. Placing his finger into the jam jar, he scrapped the last traces of the jelly like substance off the sides of the glass until his fingers looked purple. Reaching up on his tip toes, he could only just reach the face of the men, and above their smiling lips he added painted facial hair to complete this masterpiece. The strange man, Haytham, was given a long moustache which curled at the ends near his cheeks, whilst Shay was given a goatee and an eye patch to compliment the scar. In Arno's opinion, the man looked like a pirate. Far more interesting. Perhaps he should take up a career in painting. Jumping down from the table, he tripped on his nightgown and landed with a thud on the carpeted floor. The jar rolled away from him and Arno jumped back up, the fall releasing a shot of adrenalin which surged through the boy's veins to elevate the sugar high he was already experiencing. Giggling and squealing the young boy ran back to his room and slammed the door, the sound echoing throughout the estate and waking up a young scullery maid.

Shay was jolted awake by the pain in his neck and lower back caused by a night of sleeping in an uncomfortable position. Exhaling and shutting his eyes, he shifted his position slightly, extending his legs and tucking his coat closer to his large form. It was only a second later that he realised a weight was missing from his chest. His eyes shot open as he jumped from the chair, knocking it backwards and his coat billowing to the floor. He searched the small study, but found no sight of the French boy. He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to assess the situation. He came to the conclusion that the boy must not have gone far, he knew little about children but he did know that they were reluctant to leave safety zones after tragedy hit them. Arno must still be in the estate, but where? His room? Shay took some breaths to calm himself. He heard a faint angry exclamation from the direction of the kitchen. It sounded like the chef was not in a good mood this morning. Composing himself, he left the study and headed in the direction of the angry exclamations and curses that he would never dare translate.

As he arrived in the kitchen he was horrified to see it in such a state. A battle could have taken place. A butler was frantically extinguishing the flames from the stove which smelled strongly of burnt toast. The pantry was horrific. There was nothing edible left, not unless they were willing to scrape it from the floor. Not the most appealing breakfast. The two scullery maids rushed about trying to find undamaged ingredients whilst cleaning up the mess, all the while avoiding Chef Louis who was red faced with anger. Shay clapped the man on the shoulder, forcing him to look at his master, "Louis calm down!"  
"Non! Monsieur Shay look at the state of my kitchen! It's in shambles!" Shay stroked his lip in thought,  
"Aye, indeed it is." 

How could one small boy make such a mess? As the servants tended to Louis who looked quite close to fainting, Shay spotted a trail of breadcrumbs leading from the kitchen and out into the main foyer. His expression was one of stone as he set out to find the little terror. He followed the trail of breadcrumbs up the grand staircase and down numerous corridors until they ceased at the corridor where Arno's room was located. Grunting, Shay marched down the corridor spotting the broken vase, and later horrified to find that the portrait of Haytham and himself had been ruined. Shay cracked a ghost of a smile at the sight of his old friend with an exaggerated moustache, yet was offended with the goatee and the eyepatch.

Shay brought his finger up to wipe at the makeshift paint and smelled it. Strawberry jam. He could strangle young Arno. He heard shouting coming from Arno's room. Shay ran towards the sound, only to be shocked by the sight he was greeted with. There was Arno, jumping up and down on the bed in a mess of white linen which was stained red with jam. He chubby cheeks were rosy with warmth and rippled a little with each bounce. He was singing an old French folk song in the highest voice Shay had ever encountered in his life, "Alouette, gentille alouette! Alouette je te plumerai! Je te plumerai la tête! Je te plumerai la tête! Et la tête! Et la tête! Je te plumerai la tête!" Shay was astounded. Never before had he encountered a child who was so disruptive. It was a stark contrast to the boy he had met the day before, the boy who was still grieving over the death of his father. Surely children were not that resilient to loss? Regaining his train of thought Shay surged forward and pulled Arno into his arms before he broke the mattress.

Arno was still giggling and screaming with joy, that at any other moment in time would have melted Shay's heart, but currently only added to Shay's irritation. The small boy squirmed against his vice like grip, trying to push the ex-assassin away by the cheeks. Shay gritted his teeth at the unpleasant feeling. A bath for both of them would be in order, "Arno, lad, stop!" His words fell on deaf ears. Something within the usually calm and collected Shay snapped. He shouted, the words echoing around the room and in Arno's sensitive eardrums,  
"Stop this foolishness boy! Didn't your father teach you better?" Guilt wrapped it's fingers around Shay's heart at that moment once he realised what he had said to the poor boy. Arno's sugar high quickly died down, instead being replaced by the sadness he felt yesterday as he stood next to his father's corpse. As the tears started to fall, Shay realised he was correct in his hypothesis. Children were affected by the loss of a loved one. The young boy increased his efforts to push the elder gentleman away,  
"Let go of me! I need to find Papa, he promised to take me to see the fireworks! Papa!" Shay wrapped his arms firmly around the young boy as he cried into the nape of his neck. He needed to offer the boy warmth and security. Shay sat on the bed, much like last night with the boy in his lap. He spied the shattered pocket watch on the bedside table, it's ticking and sounds of the clockwork barely audible over the child's cries. Reaching over, Shay plucked it from its place and pressed it into the boy's sticky palms. It could be cleaned later. It's weight seemed to console the boy a little, his cries turned to sobs before stopping all together. All the while Shay was soothing him, rubbing his back in small soothing circles, muttering consoling words. When Arno was finished crying, leaving Shay's shirt collar thoroughly soaked, Shay pulled back and brought his index finger under the boy's chin to force him to look into his eyes. The child's face was red and blotchy. The eyes were puffy and snot was streaming from the red nose, yet Shay was not repulsed. His want to look after the orphaned boy increased.

"I'm sorry lad, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that I've never had to look after a child before." Arno was still pouting, but did not fight against his hold. Shay took this as a sign of encouragement, "Do you still want me to look after you?" Arno nodded and wrapped his small fragile arms around Shay's neck. His heart melted. He then decided that he would raise the child as his own, provide everything he ever could for him. Be a father for him, be the very thing he stole from the boy. He owed him that much.


	2. Chapter 2

A week had passed since the death of Charles Dorian, respected member of the Creed and a beloved father. A week had passed since Shay, his murderer, had taken the man's son under his wing. A week had passed since Arno disappeared from under the noses of the Creed, and that was causing problems to arise. The hooded ruffians had been scouring the streets of France for the boy, desperate to initiate him into their organisation. Foolish. Shay could only imagine the looks on their faces if they discovered the Irish assassin himself was housing the boy.

Arno had not been out in public since his father's death. Shay was busying himself with making the necessary preparations with De La Serre. Both Shay and Arno would be aboard 'The Morrigan' on their way to America before the month came to a close. Arrangements had also been made for De La Serre to escort the boy to Charles' funeral. That is what brought the two gentlemen together in Shay's office. Dark clouds thundered overhead, promising the threat of a heavy down pour later on. The wind shook the window panes, causing the glass to tremble. What a dismal day, Shay thought, swirling his drink in its glass.

Shay warmed his feet by the fire, nursing a tumbler of whiskey as De La Serre stared at the back of his chair, "Are you sure the assassins will leave him alone if they see him with you?" The Irishman inquired. Though it had been a short amount of time, Shay had developed an attachment to the French boy. Was it guilt? Perhaps, but that didn't stop his hand shaking from fear that Arno would be snatched up by the Creed. The possibility of that was immense. The funeral would be swarming with members of the Brotherhood, if they saw the young Dorian boy who would stop them? Shay wouldn't be able to, not when he was remaining at the estate.

"The boy will be fine Shay. I am not recognised as a threat by the Brotherhood. They like to jump to conclusions, they will assume I've adopted the boy if I chaperone him. That will clear the streets long enough for the both of you to leave the country." Shay nodded, gulping the rest of the whiskey and welcoming the burning sensation left in its wake. He stood to meet the Grandmaster face-to-face.  
"I'm grateful for your help François." His sincerity was met with a scoff,  
"You would have no need to be grateful if you had let me take the boy in the first place. It's still not too late you know, I could take him home after the funeral." Shay scowled, walking around the desk to grab François by the upper arm.

"Arno must return to the estate tonight. If he does not, then I swear by the almighty God, I will have no qualms with orphaning another child." There was a malice in Shay's words that caused De La Serre to cast fearful eyes towards the office doors; the doors where he knew Elisé was dutifully waiting for her father. Hopefully. De La Serre faced the Irishman once more, holding up his hands in surrender.  
"Alright Shay, you've made your point perfectly clear. Arno will return before the night is over, then you're free to retreat to America. I wash my hands of you." He pulled his arm from Shay's grasp, striding to the office doors with the other man on his heels.  
"Wait by the front doors. I shall be down with Arno shortly." A nod was all he received. There would be no love lost when Shay left the country.

When Shay entered Arno's bedroom, he was met with a heart wrenching sight. The boy sat on the bed, clad in dark and unflattering funeral garbs. He was oblivious to the thunder; to the streaks of lightning that split the sky; to Shay's very presence. In his hands, he held his pocket watch. Shay came to kneel before Arno, placing his large calloused hands over the boy's frail ones, "You alright lad?" He felt warm tears landing of the surface of his hand. Shay sat on the bed and pulled the sobbing boy onto his lap, rocking back and forth in a soothing motion whilst stroking his head.

Shay pulled the boy away from him, wiping the tears away with his palm, "No more of that lad, your father would not like to see you cry. Not if it ruins a handsome face." Arno's eyes were red and puffy and he was a white as a sheet. Probably more nightmares about his father. Even Shay had to admit that he himself had been plagued by a couple of nightmares that featured his latest victim. The boy's sobs quietened down into sniffles. Shay set the Dorian boy on his feet, sweeping none existent dust off the black tailcoat, "If it weren't such a sad occasion, you'd be quite the heart breaker lad." That managed to pull a slight curl of the lips, but nothing more. In time the boy would come to terms with it, but until then Shay would never stop trying to charm that smile back onto his face. Shay cupped Arno's cheeks in his large palms, "Are you ready to go?" The boy nodded, and together they walked hand in hand down to the grand foyer where their guests were waiting.

As soon as Elisé rested her eyes on Arno, she rushed over to him an enveloped him in a hug, "Je suis désolé." She whispered, over and over again as Arno buried his face in the crook of her neck. Shay made his way to stand next to Francois, gazing upon the scene with a vague sense of interest.  
"Do you think we have a romance budding?"

"Who can tell?" Was Francois' reply, "Love is fleeting, especially at their age. Maybe when they're older we shall hear the chime of church bells." The older gentleman glanced at his pocket watch and cleared his throat, "We should get going, I want us to get there just before the funeral starts. Let the Creed see the boy before they bury their comrade." He called for Elisé and Arno to follow him. The air was not without a bitter chill, Arno seemed to be the only one who paid it no mind. A footman opened the black carriage door and aided Elisé inside, "Come Arno, you can sit next to me." She beckoned, her voice soft so as not to startle him. He patted the boy on the head, drawing the boy's focus from the watch.

"Mister De La Serre is going to look after you for the day, but I shall be here when you return." Panic flashed in Arno's eyes as he grabbed a hold of Shay's breeches,  
"You're not coming with me?"  
"No lad, I'm afraid I'm not. I have business to attend to." It was not a lie. A lawyer was visiting the estate in the afternoon, and he would have adoption papers with him. Although it would be entirely up to Arno if he wanted Shay to continue to be his guardian. Fresh tears spilled as Arno clung tighter to Shay.

"Non! Non! Don't leave me Mister Shay!" Shay hoisted the boy on his hip, hugging him close to his chest,  
"Listen to me Arno. I'm not going anywhere. I will be right here when you return. I promise you that."  
"I don't want to go without you." He forced the eight-year-old to look at him.  
"You need to go. This is the last chance you will have to say goodbye to your father. Be a strong lad for him, and always remember that he's watching over you." Shay pointed to the sky where the clouds drummed loudly, "And if you should ever need him, he's right here." He placed his hand over the boy's heart before kissing his forehead and setting him down on the floor, "Now, don't keep Elisé waiting. I'm sure your father taught you to treat women better than that."

With that, Arno disappeared inside the carriage leaving the two men outside. Shay turned to Francois, "Look after him De La Serre."  
"You have my word Shay. May the father of understanding guide us."De La Serre held his hand up in a vague gesture.  
"May the father of understanding guide us." De La Serre joined the children in the carriage, before the horses surged forward, taking its occupants to Versailles. Shay could not help the bile that rose to his throat at the thought of leaving Arno alone, but he maintained a calm exterior. He only just managed to catch a glimpse of Arno waving his chubby hands out the window, the tears still sliding down his face. Shay watched as the carriage passed the iron gates and was swallowed by the fog. He already missed the boy.

Arno glanced out the window as the carriage rocked on the gravel road to Versailles. It was silent in the carriage, nothing to be heard but the clapping of the horseshoes and the squeaking of the wheel springs. He was still sniffling, his thumb stroking the glass face of the pocket watch, the last reminder he had of the man who his entire life revolved around. Charles Dorian was Arno's world, and for him to be ripped suddenly from his life was a harsh blow to the boy. He felt slender fingers entwine with his, and glanced over to see Elisé pick his hand up and cradle it in her lap. The only sign of affection she could give to show her friend that he did not have to go through this alone. Reality hit again. In a few mere hours, Arno would see his father be encased in the Dorian Mausoleum. Arno brought his knees up to hide his face as he sobbed.

De La Serre was at a loss of what to do. He had been much older than Arno when his parents died, but Arno had never known a mother. Now his father was gone and he was being looked after by strangers as far as he was concerned. He observed as his daughter cradled her new-found friend, and came to a startling thought. In his mind's eye, he saw a glimpse of Altair and Maria, Assassin and Templar whose love came to a tragic end. Perhaps it would be better for Arno to leave France, hopefully never to return. He would hate to see his daughter hurt like Maria was.

Arno clung to Elisé for the rest of the journey, not even glancing out the window as he was surrounded by the familiar buildings of Versailles. The carriage jolted to a stop in the crowded courtyard of Arno's former home. Elisé helped him out of the carriage, and he felt the weight of a thousand gazes upon his shoulders. Arno glanced at all the faces that towered above him. He did not recognise a single one. He was immediately bombarded with people offering him their condolences, but they fell on deaf ears. Arno felt numb, especially when he saw the mahogany coffin resting on the shoulders of men with saddened faces leave the house. Heads bowed as the coffin was placed in the glass carriage, and the mourners took their places behind it. De La Serre grabbed hold of the children's' hands, marching forward as the carriage began its journey to the church.

It was the longest walk of Arno's life. The thunder echoed in his ears as he observed pedestrians lower their heads and hats in respect of the dead. The young boy would keep casting glances to the coffin, wishing deep down that it was not actually his father in there. That this was all just some horrible dream, and that Charles Dorian would be waiting at the dining table for him in the morning, reading the newspaper and sipping bitter coffee that stained his teeth. Arno missed that smell. He missed the smiling face of his father. He missed wiping the ink off his face when his father set aside the newspaper to grab his son's cheeks before kissing him on the crown of his head.

When they arrived at the church, Arno was escorted to the seats before the Dorian Mausoleum. There, his father's coffin was laid in the aisle as the priest began his service. Every so often, Arno was aware of pitiful gazes that were sent his way. He tried to look anywhere else. He cast his eyes to the right, beyond the graveyard to the buildings opposite. Through the fog, he could only just make out a hooded figure crouching on the ledge of a balcony. He furrowed his brows, staring at the mysterious figure who was observing the sad scene before them. The boy was unsure how long he had actually been watching mysterious figure, but when he heard the shuffling of footsteps through the dead leaves his attention was drawn to his father's coffin. Men were gathering around it to hoist it on their shoulders, preparing to rest it in the Mausoleum. A fresh wave of tears came as Arno rose to his feet, ready to stop him from taking the coffin inside. He was stopped when he felt a large hand on his shoulder. He turned to find De La Serre shaking his head gently at him, "Don't my boy. Your father deserves peace." Arno cast one final glance at the coffin before it was inside and out of sight.

The young French boy clung to De La Serre as he watched the funeral party seal up the mausoleum. That was it. Charles Dorian was gone for good. Those who had gathered to pay their respects; some would go home; others would go to the Dorian mansion where refreshments would be provided. Arno made his way to the carriage just as that numb feeling took over once more. Arno was unaware of Elisé stroking his shoulder and murmuring soothing words. He was unaware of De La Serre religiously checking his pocket watch, perspiration beginning to seep out from under his powdered wig. Gazing out the window, through the fog, Arno could make out the strange hooded figure from the balcony leaping from roof top to roof top with impossible grace and agility. Through his mourning, the little boy could not help but be in awe. What a sight it was. Arno's eyes eagerly observed the scene, until the figure was once again swallowed up by the fog, never to be seen again.

At the Dorian mansion mourners were gathered together, drinking and eating in memory of the lost soul. Arno followed dutifully behind De La Serre as the elder gentleman wandered from group to group. With each new meeting, Arno was greeted the same. They would mutter their condolences; the women would coo and the men would pat him on the head. More than a few and inquired as to who was adopting the boy. The Dorian fortune was renowned and there were more than a few nobles who were down on their luck. They would love to get their hands on that particular prize. The one-time Arno opened his mouth to tell them that he was with Mister Shay, De La Serre nudged him and took him off to the side. The man knelt before him, "Listen to me, son. You cannot let anyone know that Shay is looking after you. For all purposes, if anyone asks you are in my care."

"Why can't I let people know about Mister Shay?" De La Serre looked around with a cautious eye and dropped his voice to a low whisper when he caught a member of the Brotherhood observing them from the rim of his wine glass, "Damn that Pierre." He mumbled, "We can't let them know about Shay because they don't like him. If I'm honest with you, if they find out you're with him, they shall take you away from him." Arno's eyes began to tear up,  
"They won't will they?" De La Serre nodded and briefly cast his eyes over his shoulder, tense and stiff.

"Yes. In fact, if you just look over my shoulder now, subtly mind, if you see that gentleman with the wine glass, he's one of the ones who will take you away." Arno glanced at the man through his thick lashes. He looked like he was just emerging into his thirties. Dark hair and morning stubble. Arno hated him on sight. How dare he try to take him away from Mister Shay!

When Arno was pulled back into the group of mourners, he kept sending wary glanced towards the man who never seemed to stop staring at him and De La Serre. It soon all became too much for Arno. The sounds of sobbing, the suffocating smell of powder, the looks of sorrow as well as the constant affectionate touches. He wanted his father. He wanted Mister Shay. When no one was looking, he ran from the parlour and up the stairs to his father's bedroom.

Behind the bookshelves was a secret study that he would find his father in from time-to-time. No one else in the house knew about it apart from the Head Butler. No one would bother him in here. The room smelled of tobacco and whiskey. It smelled of Charles, and it comforted Arno. Walking around the desk to the large chair, he sat in it and allowed himself to be enveloped in the only comfort he had left. The tears started to fall again, yet he fell asleep before the first dripped from his chin and to splash on his cravat.

Downstairs, François glanced to the corner of the room where his daughter conversed with some of her friends. Yet he could not see Arno. He glanced down to his leg and Arno was not there either. He began to frantically switch between groups, asking if anyone had seen the boy leaving. He double counted all the members of the Brotherhood to see if anyone of them had left. Only one was gone. Pierre. "Merde!" He mumbled. He informed the servants and his fellow Templars to the disappearance of the boy. Soon everyone was scouring the mansion high and low for him.

François ran a gloved hand over his face. Checking the nearby Grandfather clock, he sighed in irritation. They should have left for Paris an hour ago, and with the storm now raging outside the journey would take twice as long. Soon he came across the Head Butler, "Do you have any idea where the boy might have gone?"  
"There are a couple of hiding places the young master likes to use. Some of them are private, so you must forgive me Sir if I investigate them on my own."  
"Oui. Merci." He dismissed the butler as he held Elisé close to him.

Shay was distracted very quickly after the young boy and De La Serre had left the manor to go to the funeral. The Order demanded his attention more often than not, and with Arno out of the manor, it meant all of his business could be easily conducted from here or near to the home without assassins or any bystanders interfering. Shay sighed softly as he watched the carriage pull away from the house, and waved briefly as he caught sight of Arno's small hand moving by the window of the cabin. His butler had informed him about the lawyer. It just so happened the storm would mean it would be unwise for him to attend, and so he had rearranged the appointment for the next morning, when, Arno would decide his own fate. With a soft smile, he tucked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and moved back towards the stairs to properly dress himself before heading out to meet other members of The Order in Paris.

Dressing in all of his layers, belts and leather had now become second nature, though his back now sometimes protested at heavy weights, but it seemed to cope well enough with his guns, various weapon and ammo stashed across his being. Shay rolled his shoulders as he finally clipped the last belt buckle and pulled it tight, keeping his coat closed around his middle. The clothes for infiltrating the palace were an unnecessary addition to make him fit in, but official business demanded his official outfit, and that was the one his friends in New York had given him all those years ago after his fall from the cliff. He had replaced a few aspects of the outfit, but the long hardy leather coat remained intact, and Shay wore it with pride, in memoriam for the friends he loved and lost due to a mere matter of opinion. Shaking his head clear of the sad thoughts, Shay moved out of his room and jogged down the stairs, smiling to his maid as he left the estate, hailing a cab from the street to take him to the location.

It didn't take the cabbie long to navigate the narrow Parisian streets and Shay tossed him his coin payment as he stepped out of the carriage. This location was definitely somewhere the Assassins would fail to think of. The small tavern was on the very outskirts of Paris just inside the old walls. Shay raised an eyebrow but shrugged, he had visited worse places on the open ocean, and very few establishments along the normal port towns and cities were much better than this, especially the ones he had visited in the tiny towns in River Valley. Some of those paled in comparison to this place, being much darker, smaller and seedier in general. This place was probably a shining star in comparison to those. Shay chuckled as he recalled the memory of Gist dancing atop the tables, swinging his wide brimmed hat around as he did. He hoped that none of that would be happening in this place.

Shay threw open the door and strode into the pub. He was greeted with the general riff-raff brawling and throwing punches in the corner and the late night workers having a pint before having to head home, or even some having a pint before going to work in some cases. Shay was ignored, and all the customers continued their conversations and fights. The bartender stopped wiping a large tanker and whistled to him, tipping his head back to indicate for Shay to come closer. Shay frowned, but did as was asked and came closer, leaning both his arms on the counter of the bar with a single black eyebrow raised. The bartender looked around conspiratorially, looking for anyone who could be eaves dropping, before he finally spoke.

"He's in the back, Monsieur. Apparently the boy is important." Shay scowled heavily and pushed away from the bar with a quick shove. The back room was through a small simple wooden door, and Shay opened it, peaking in carefully, his dagger in hand.

The room was quiet, and Shay put one foot around the door before gliding in. An abrupt cough from the back of the room grabbed his attention and he flinched, turning to the noise. François Germain was sat in the back of the room, smug as usual, a smirk covering his face. Shay knew all too well that Germain opposed De La Serre's position as Grandmaster and what he was doing with the order, and so, he knew he would have to tread lightly conducting business with the weasel. Shay sheathed his dagger at his side and walked over with a scowl, sitting in the wooden chair opposite Germain's rather large one. Germain was always one to exert his authority, and even now it seemed that he was intent to try and get under Shay's skin.

Shay sat and leant forwards, his knees spread apart as he placed a hand on his knee with a cocked eyebrow, "So, what business do you want to discuss, Germain?" Shay knew the whole meeting was a farce by this point, it was all a way to try and get him to spill the details about what had happened, and to confirm rumours going around in the order. The last thing he needed to do was reveal anything to the snake that was Germain. The silver smith was quick to lean forwards in his chair, his fingers intertwined and his elbows resting on top of the dusty wooden table. The gleam in the Templar's eyes was positively ravenous for information.

"There have been rumours around The Order that you've taken a child under your wing Grandmaster Cormac." Germain tipped his head to the side slightly the smirk disappearing, to be replaced by a stony look. Shay was well aware of his play, and rolled his shoulders slightly.  
"Why would anyone think that? I have little time for a woman in my life, where would I find the time for child, Germain?" Shay was curt and moved his hand in a flippant gesture, coolly changing the subject, "Was there any actual purpose to this meeting, or did you only invite me here for a chat about ridiculous rumours?"

Germain didn't seem to want to give in, but turned the conversation to the business he had been sent to conduct. Coughing slightly, he drew out a large map and rolled it across the table.  
"I was sent to confirm with you the location of a piece of Eden, and to confirm that you will help us retrieve it." Shay raised his eyebrows in shock as Germain pointed on the map to the location. Mulling the idea over, Shay shook his head.  
"I wont be here when you do want to retrieve the piece, or if I am, I doubt I will be much help, I know very little about them, and," Shay stood up, pushing his chair back, "I don't think that tampering with such power could do the world any good." He then began walking to the door. Germain snorted and stood up in a burst of anger.  
"You sound like an assassin Cormac! I should have known you would revert back to their idiotic creed one day."

In a flash, Shay was across the room his hand fisted in the material of Germain's shirt and waistcoat. Slowly, the Irishman drew out his dagger, pressing it against the soft skin of Germain's neck purposefully, "Then, as an assassin, I would have no qualms about ending your miserable existence." He spat, leaning in close to the other Templar's ear before speaking again, "Question my motives again and I wont bat an eyelash at sinking this," He pressed the dagger harder against Germain's neck, "Or this," Shay pressed his hand hard against Germain's chest, the hidden blade poking out slightly of it's sheath around his wrist. The Frenchman swallowed with a scowl but backed off as Shay released the iron grip on his clothes.

"I have no misconceptions about you thrusting those blades through me Monsieur Cormac, I do however, have doubts about your true intentions." Germain dusted himself off and sniffed in Shay's direction by the door. Shay peered over his shoulder darkly.  
"Just like I have doubts about yours. Good day Germain." Shay then slammed the door behind him as he walked out, back out into the main area. He was sure to toss a coin to the bartender for his discretion as he left.

After climbing into another carriage, Shay was sure to mutter to himself to let out his frustrations. He had done it outside by slamming the door and kicked a rock high into the air. His next appointment, he hoped, would be far less stressful than dealing with a sour faced, deviant Germain. Rubbing his forehead, Shay sighed and looked out of the window, hoping the funeral was going well, and that this day would be over soon enough.

Shay made it back to his home before Grandmaster De La Serre, Arno and Elise were due to arrive back from the funeral. With a little bit of time before they were due to arrive, Shay was relieved, and called for a maid to make him up some hot water for a bath. She curtseyed a little before hurrying off to do as she was told, bucket in hand. Shay lethargically made his way up the stairs towards his room in order to change out of his bloodied and dirty clothes. As soon as he had taken his coat and red stained shirt off, the maid bustled in, lugging a huge pot of steaming hot water with her. The ageing woman paid him no mind but tutted to herself at his lack of attire.  
"You'll catch a chill, Monsieur, by sauntering around with no clothes on." The maid wagged her finger in his direction and tutted. Shay only laughed a little and scooped his clothes up off of the floor before walking over and placing them in the basket at the other end of his room by the dressing screen.

The woman was quick to exit and return a few more times until the bath was full and at a comfortable temperature for Shay to get into. She wiped her hand on a small cloth she stashed in the front of her apron and nodded, signalling it was ready, before grabbing her bucket and bidding him good night, and exiting the room. Shay was quick to get into the bath and sighed in bliss as the heated water soothed his aching muscles. Age was something he was beginning to hate. Shaking his head he quickly set about scrubbing himself clean and relaxing before the group was due home from the funeral.

Shay had dressed quickly after bathing and looked out of the window to see the sun setting over the Parisian skyline. The sky was beginning to grow dark with purple and orange hues. They should have been home at six o'clock, but it had not been long since. Shay knew that Paris and Versailles were difficult to navigate and were crowded with traffic. The delay would no doubt be due to the slow moving traffic, he reasoned with himself. So the Irishman seated himself with a small shot of whiskey in the drawing room and waited, spinning the amber liquid around lost in thought as he waited for the door to open.

The clock chimed the hour at seven o'clock and Shay began to pace with worry. He was sure that no amount of traffic could delay a short journey by so much. His butler assured him that they would be home soon, but the Templar was beginning to question what could have happened. Thoughts about the Assassin's potentially getting their hands on the boy then filtered into his mind. If the assassins got hold of him there would be no telling what would happen. So, with a resolute nod, Shay was quickly back up the stairs for his weapons and trudging back down, strapping his sword under his coat and placing his pistols in their holsters as he opened the door. His butler called for him but Shay was gone quickly, briskly walking towards the place he knew the funeral was taking place. When he was out of sight of the house, Shay peered around before quickly scaling the closest building, smoothly pulling himself up onto the roof before tugging his collar up and beginning to run. Vaulting a chimney, he picked up pace and sprinted, leaping a gap as he drew closer to the place one roof at a time.

Sprinting across the roofs brought back the feelings of his youth, and Shay was fuelled to run quicker with a gleeful smile despite his worry. That was, until, a smoke bomb erupted on the roof he had jumped to. Shay tugged up the small cloth guard from his shirt and scowled, rolling to the edge of the roof and tugging his sword and dagger out of their sheaths as he stood up. A figure burst through the smoke with their hidden blade ready to plunge into his jugular. Shay ducked the blow and slashed his dagger forwards, missing the person's neck but ripping through their green coloured hood. The assassin, as it was now obvious, made a small sound of surprise and lashed out again, trying to whip their other hidden blade around for another attempt at a blow. Shay quickly countered the movement by cutting his sword through the air, clashing it with the hidden blade before shoulder barging the assassin. They grunted and staggered backwards a few steps, allowing Shay to close the distance and counter attack, slashing his sword and reversing his dagger in his hand, sending it plummeting towards the assassin's shoulder.

The assassin was no amateur and ducked before, in a flash, drawing his own sword to block the sword and dagger. Shay raised his eyebrows in a small amount of shock but pushed hard on the blade, forcing the assassin to slide his blade away and retreat further towards the edge of the roof. The assassin chuckled and sheathed his sword, fingers twitching, evidently itching to try and drive a hidden blade through Shay's neck or heart.

"You're as good as they say dog. I'm surprised you've retained that talent with your age." The smirk and five o'clock shadow was all that Shay could see beneath the damaged green hood. Shay scoffed and smoothly sheathed both his swords in a flick of his wrists.  
"And you. You're the assassin I've heard much about. Pierre Bellec. You've been causing a lot of issues lad. I'm surprised you haven't gotten yourself killed yet." The younger assassin smirked wide flashing teeth dangerously.  
"Watch what you say. I might just have to finish you, though I don't think they'd be every impressed with me for eliminating you. Peace treaty and all that."

Pierre sheathed his hidden blades after holding them up to make his point. Shay was unimpressed and his fingers twitched, revealing his own hidden blades. He smile sarcastically and flicked his wrists again, sheathing them once more. Pierre whistled appreciatively.  
"Touché Cormac." He cocked his hip out slightly as he folded his arms over his chest, "I suggest you keep yourself out of what's happening right now." Bellec angled his head just so that Shay caught a glimpse of dark cold eyes beneath the hood. The Irishman tucked his hands in his pockets with a scowl.  
"What happenings?" He played dumb and rolled the smoke bomb around in his hand, hidden in his pocket. Pierre rolled his eyes with a tut.  
"You know what, Grandmaster, and I suggest you stay out of it, if not for your own good, then the boys." Pierre grinned venomously and snapped at Shay's heels like a dog, intent on pulling the truth from him. Shay frowned.  
"What boy?" He raised his eyebrows in questioning just for added effect, but grinned soon after, "You mean Dorian's boy, yes? The little lad?" With a stiff nod from Pierre Shay rolled his shoulders in a shrug, planning what to say next.

Shay let his dark eyes rest on Pierre's hooded figure, "The lad screamed for his father before I left. That's the last I heard of him." Bellec twitched and his jaw clenched at Shay's prodding, "The most I know is that his father is dead, and good riddance. He held something important to me, and I needed it back." The sudden change in atmosphere was all that Shay needed. He knew it had been an ambush all along. A revenge kill beneath the orders of the Brotherhood officials. This was for killing Charles Dorian, but he would be damned if he let these amateurs all slaughter him and have such a pleasure as saying they killed a master Templar

Shay whipped around in time to catch the blade aimed for his back and violently twisted Pierre's wrist before slamming his knee into the assassin's stomach and pushing him onto the tiles of the roof. Several other assassins appeared on roofs opposite and Shay drew out two smoke bombs as they leapt across, smashing them onto the ground to create a thick smoke screen. He drew up his mask once more and slipped to the back of the roof, grabbing hold of the piping and dropping to grab a ledge and clambering down. The smoke screen was still in place and Shay drew his rifle from his back shoving a shrapnel bomb in the addition. Aiming into the smokescreen he fired the bomb and listened to the pained screams. He fired a sleep gas bomb, hearing cries of "Sleep gas!" as he shouldered his rifle and sprinted away, back towards his home.

The Irishman was greeted at the door by his butler, having forgotten his key in the rush to search. Shay knew it was unwise to search with a group of assassins potentially on his trail, but, having injured a number of them with the shrapnel bomb, he was fairly sure they would run with their tails between their legs. That, however, did not mean that the assassins would not try and get at him again. Shay sighed as he walked into the house but was immediately greeted by the sight of a puffy faced Arno and a stressed out François. Shay felt his heart swell at the sight of the young boy, his worries evaporating at the image of the unharmed young lad.

Arno sniffled and ran towards Shay with a small wail. De La Serre pinched the bridge of his nose and Shay shushed the crying boy before turning his fury on the other Templar  
"What the hell took you so long?! Its been hours De La Serre!" Arno peered up at Shay's face, a few hiccups escaping him, "And why is the lad crying?" Arno rubbed at his eyes in response to this.  
"I'm not crying!" He puffed out his cheeks in protest, gripping the pocket watch in his fist tightly. Shay softly smiled down at the small French boy and ushered him over to the butler.  
"Get him in the bath and some fresh clothes please." The man nodded, weary already from Shay pacing and running out of the house.

When Arno was safely out of hearing range, Shay rounded on De La Serre. The Parisian Grandmaster scowled heavily and sat himself carefully down on a small seat, both his hand resting on his cane.  
"There were some complications, never mind the fact that the place was crawling with Assassins left, right and centre." De La Serre rubbed his forehead, part of his powdered wig coming loose, "But, it doesn't matter now. He is home, and I suggest you both leave as soon as you are able." The other Templar looked up with a troubled curve in his brow. Shay crossed his arms tilting his head back slightly.  
"Go on. So keen to get rid of us I see." Shay poured himself a shot, his hand resting on the small table.

A long and deep breath out from De La Serre was followed by an explanation.  
"There is going to be peace discussions, and I doubt you will help them much, and so I see it fit for you to retreat back to America and your... master as soon as possible." The Frenchman sniffed a little. Shay's eyes glinted dangerously at the mention of Haytham.

"Haytham is no more my master than you are. It is in my interest to work with him for the good of the order." The words were sour on his tongue. He knew in himself that he was still in a way subservient to Haytham, if not just out of a deep respect he held for the pompous Englishman. But still, Shay reasoned, the Precursor Box was in both the interest of himself and Haytham so, it made sense for the both of them to be working together. De La Serre flipped his hand nonchalantly.  
"Call it what you will, but, it still makes sense for you to return with the box now in your possession." Shay nodded with a brief hum, and a hiss as he downed the strong alcohol.  
"It would. I would like to report the happenings here too to the colonial rite as well." Shay turned to face De La Serre, "Now, isn't it about time you went home to your daughter?"

Ushering De La Serre away was easy, the two of them were more than ready to be rid of each other's presence. Shay shut the door and bolted it before moving back into the house and sighing. Tomorrow he would leave with the boy. He made a quick stop to ask the butler to send a message to the harbour in Calais to ready his ship for sail. The Morrigan had been moored for long enough. He revelled in the thought of captaining the ship again. He took the stairs two at a time and knocked on the door to Arno's room. He was met with a small 'come in'.

Arno had snuggled himself beneath the sheets and blankets, his mop of brown hair visible just poking out of the mass of material. The storm, as predicted, hit Paris. Thunder rumbled through the air and rain battered down on the roof, the wind howling through the chimneys. Arno, however, did not seem too fazed by the storm, most likely too emotionally exhausted to protest much about it. Shay chuckled and sat himself in the chair next to the bed. The boy poked his head out of the bedding with a sheepish grin and Shay ruffled his mess of hair with a large hand.  
"Ready for bed lad?" He was met with an enthusiastic nod and Shay smiled before tucked the sheets around Arno and asking a question, "So lad, why was it that you were late back? If De La Serre pulled a stunt I swear-" The last part was muttered so Arno could not hear, but the young boy shook his head.  
"It wasn't Monsieur De La Serre's fault...it was mine. I was upset about father and-and I hid in his old study a-and no one c-could find me." Arno sniffled a little and Shay hushed him tugging him up out of the covers to wrap him in a hug.

"Its alright, Arno, shh." He rubbed Arno's back soothingly and leaned back briefly to rub tears from his face, "Don't worry about it. Its not your fault. It is an upsetting thing to attend a funeral." He gently laid Arno back down and wiped his face before tucking the covers tight around his form. "Get some sleep and if you're good, I'll make eggs for breakfast." Arno grinned and nodded quickly shutting his eyes.  
"Good night Mr Shay." He whispered and Shay smiled softly, closing the door a little.  
"Good night, Arno. Sleep tight." He closed the door, leaving for his own room, relieved but with a warm feeling enveloping his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will saying sorry cut it for the amount of time this took? Or the seven thousand words? Either way we are both sorry this took so long we've been caught up in a lot of work and a lack of motivation and inspiration. Hopefully this starts the production of some more content but...well I make no promises but I will try my hardest to get some Assassin's Creed stuff written with my new inspiration from the nice easter eggs in the movie- it was so good you guys should all see it but not with the idea that its going to be exactly like the games.
> 
> Thank you for reviews, favourites and follows!
> 
> Spookworm.  
> ~  
> P.S Whereallalittlemadhere is also sorry for the delay and hopes to be getting back into writing this soon!


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